


hoodie

by pantheras (rewindmp3)



Series: out of the ordinary [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, a theme: taeyong makes johnny lose his brain to mouth filter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewindmp3/pseuds/pantheras
Summary: taeyong is, first and foremost, johnny's best friend. taeyong is johnny's best friend, and that's where all his problems begin.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: out of the ordinary [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684090
Comments: 76
Kudos: 510
Collections: BBBFest Debut Round: The Bittersweet Option, nct johnny seo and lee taeyong





	hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> listen: [hoodie by jr aquino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYhVDr5Arxc) & [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WH42M00fBXpRCd6xhvXs4)

“-so maybe we need a new leader, hm?”

The moment the words leave Doyoung’s mouth, Johnny’s blood runs cold.

He’s watching Taeyong, he always is, but especially now. He watches the way Taeyong’s body tenses, the way all of his muscles, usually so fluid and free, lock into place. He watches the way Taeyong’s eyes widen, the way his mind shutters closed. He watches the way that hurt, confusion, grief, guilt, every terrible emotion he can name flashes through Taeyong’s eyes. He watches the way tears well up, the way Taeyong blinks them back, the way walls slam up so high, so quickly, so conscious of the cameras rolling.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s Taeyong’s _birthday_ , for fuck’s sake, and this was supposed to be a light-hearted hidden camera, one of the classic ones where they make the person being pranked feel like shit before they burst into a song or a gag or whatever the fuck.

Johnny’s never understood the point of hidden cameras, has always found them stupid. He would even go so far as to say he hates them, really. There was _so much_ that could go wrong, so much that could be revealed by mistake, so much to be lost. The people who fell for them—the kind, trusting, perhaps gullible people like Taeyong—always ended up crying. The emotional toll it took for one short moment of entertaining shock value… was it worth it? But the fans. Always, always the fans. They seemed to be obsessed with these hidden cameras, and what were idols if not accommodating? Cogs in the wheel of celebrity consumerism?

They had trusted Doyoung to deliver the final punch. The hidden camera was loosely outlined, an argument they drew Taeyong into started by something minuscule and juvenile, after which they would cut the lights and bring out the candle-laden birthday cake and start singing. It was a sweet gesture, in theory. Or, rather, as sweet as it could be given what they were doing.

They had trusted Doyoung—smart, sarcastic, known-for-play-fighting-with-Taeyong Doyoung—to make the last snarky remark before Taeyong would get his reward (a cacophony of noise, green tea ice cream cake, strawberry macarons).

Johnny had never imagined Doyoung would come up with _this_ , of all things.

In theory, it should’ve been fine. The members had always been careful about even breaching the subjects of Taeyong’s leadership and number of schedules he was required to endure as one of NCT’s most well-known, well-rounded members. But it’s been a while since the last incident, the last scandal or outburst of articles beating to death the unfortunate events and accusations of Taeyong’s past. In fact, now his name was consistently included in those other articles about idols who could do everything: sing, dance, rap, compose, model, lead, you name it.

So, in theory, it should’ve been fine. It seemed like the public knew who Taeyong was, finally, beyond the rumors and the slander. Taeyong himself was constantly on Vlive telling their fans to accept themselves for both what they could and could not do—to love themselves for both their strengths and their shortcomings—and letting them know that he was doing the same.

But, Murphy’s Law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Nothing has ever really worked out according to theory.

Objectively, Johnny knows that Doyoung meant no harm in what he said, that there was no chance Doyoung felt that way about Taeyong at all. None of them did. Every single member of 127—every single member of NCT, period—loves Taeyong fiercely and respects him even more so for all that he does as official (and unofficial) leader. Johnny knows that.

Subjectively, Johnny wants to punch Doyoung in the face.

The heartbreak in Taeyong’s eyes was there for barely a second, maybe two. Johnny didn’t think anyone else had even noticed that Taeyong shut down, until the silence became deafening.

Taeyong wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t defending himself, either, or, more characteristically, trying to soothe Doyoung’s attitude like a balm. He wasn’t doing much of anything, really, except staring blankly at Doyoung’s face.

The air crackles with a tension that wasn’t there before, among the rest of the members who knew this argument was all fake. It’s palpable. Yet, the staff thinks that _now_ is the best time to turn off the lights and bring out the cake.

The should’ve-been-triumphant burst into “Happy Birthday” is weak, as are the exclamations that this was all a hidden camera, a harmless prank. Johnny’s lips are drawn into a thin line.

Taeyong isn’t supposed to look like this. Not now, not ever.

“Cut the cameras,” Johnny mutters to a staff member. His eyes are still on Taeyong.

Nobody moves, though.

“Cut the _fucking_ cameras,” Johnny growls again. He doesn’t raise his voice because he knows Taeyong wouldn’t like that. He is, however, significantly meaner.

Again, nobody moves.

“I _said_ , cut the _fucking_ cameras!” Johnny grabs the lens attached to the one of the cameras in their faces, shoves it away from them and towards the floor. He’s furious enough to smash the entire thing onto the ground, but the rational part of his brain (that was becoming quieter and quieter with every moment that Taeyong retreated into himself) reminds him of how expensive these things are and how much trouble he’d be in if he broke one.

That’s what stirs everyone into action.

Laidback Johnny, American, go-with-the-flow, teddy bear, gentle giant Johnny is suddenly very, _very_ angry and very, _very_ scary.

Taeil breaks off from the members hurriedly to explain to the rest of the production crew that there’s been a situation and that filming needs to be stopped. There’s no way to even air this footage, not unless they want their fans to rip the group apart. Mark looks torn, in the pure way that only he can: like he wants to tell Doyoung off, but could understand why Doyoung thought it would be okay to say what he said; like he wants to help Taeyong, but doesn’t know how; like he wants to give his hyung a bone-crushing hug, but thinks that Taeyong might break if he did.

However, the members standing there, frozen in discomfort, are not the main priority. Taeyong is.

Johnny reaches for Taeyong’s wrist, gently pulling Taeyong towards him. He wraps a careful, protective arm around Taeyong’s shoulders, drawing him in closer.

“C’mon, Yongie. Let’s go back to our room and sleep a little, yeah? We’ve had a long day.” Johnny’s voice is soft in a way that it only ever is with Taeyong, especially when he gets like this.

It’s more urgent when he whispers to Yuta, “Take care of the kids. Handle this.”

“I will deal with you later,” Johnny all but spits in Doyoung’s direction, more vitriol dripping from his tone than perhaps Doyoung deserves.

Doyoung didn’t know. He wasn’t Taeyong’s roommate. He wasn’t Taeyong’s best friend.

He wasn’t Johnny.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

They weren’t always best friends.

Johnny didn’t even really _like_ Taeyong when they first met.

It wasn’t Taeyong’s fault, by any means. 2012 was a weird year for Johnny. There had been talks, the year prior, of him joining the boy group that was set to debut. It had certainly surprised him. He may have joined the company in 2007 and started training in 2008, but it’s not like he just dropped his life for SM Entertainment. Even at 12, 13 years old, he knew that wasn’t what he wanted for himself, and there’s no way in hell his parents would’ve agreed either. So, his cumulative training time, by 2012, would’ve barely been about a year since he was only in Korea over summer break. He wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that he was necessarily better or more qualified than what he’d seen of Huang Zitao and his fancy tricks, or what he’d heard about Jongdae and Baekhyun through the other trainees while he was back in Chicago, studying.

Johnny wasn’t delusional, yet when the idea of debut was planted in his mind, he found that he wanted it, wanted fiercely to be in a group with the trainees he was already familiar with, like Sehun. Maybe especially Sehun.

He didn’t make the final cut. And that was supposed to be okay, because he knew he wasn’t actually ready, but it hurt all the same. It hurt to watch the EXO members’ teasers, posted one after the other, and it hurt to know that one of the videos could’ve featured him.

It hurt, also, to hear about the new trainees that had been scouted during the school year, street casted but apparently doing leaps and bounds better than anyone would’ve thought. Seulgi, arguably his closest trainee friend at the time, wouldn’t stop messaging him about one person in particular.

Lee Taeyong had been casted outside of his school, purely for his face. There’s a running joke—or, maybe not a joke, per se, but an implicit understanding—both inside and outside the company that the people casted for visuals alone tended to need the most work developing their skills because, well, they tended not to have any.

Lee Taeyong, however, was proving that assumption to be very, very wrong.

He’d never rapped before, but his tone was amazing and his control over his breathing and development of flow was already better than most of the trainees being molded to be rappers. He was, apparently, becoming a budding lyricist as well, which sent shockwaves throughout the trainees because of how strict the company was over artists’ creative control.

He’d never danced before, but he was learning so quickly and executing routines so well that he was already being placed in some of the more advanced classes, and keeping up in them too. Johnny couldn’t help but think bitterly to his first few years at the company, trying to force his already too-long limbs to cooperate with him as the dance instructors breathed down his neck. He tried to remind himself that it was different, that he was a prepubescent teen, while Taeyong was 17 years old and able to process instructions and control his body much more than Johnny could’ve, but he couldn’t help the voice in the back of his mind saying, “Maybe if you’d just been more like Taeyong, you could’ve debuted.”

All this, and they hadn’t even _met_ yet.

He didn’t want to be thinking these thoughts. Johnny’s always prided himself on being fairly rational, mature for his age, behind the goofy and carefree exterior. He doesn’t like judging people before he’s talked to them, doesn’t like harboring negative thoughts towards anyone for too long if he can help it. None of that shit is good for him, for anyone, really.

Still, when he and Taeyong finally did meet, Johnny wasn’t exactly the nicest he could’ve been.

Seulgi had introduced them to each other, when Johnny was finally back in the company (for good, this time, since he had just graduated) and Taeyong was all polite bows and shy smiles.

He was _gorgeous_. Anyone with half a brain could see that. And Johnny could see it, could see it clearer than day, could see it with the knowledge that he spent the latter half of high school figuring out he was bi and infinitely worse at talking to boys than he was at talking to girls, and he felt his breath catch.

Then, Johnny remembered who this was, and an ugly, green feeling crept its way up his spine. He tried to tamp it down, but it kept coming and it was this confusing jumble of emotions that rendered him near speechless. He introduced himself as best he could—and, a few moments later, Seulgi would chastise him for his smile that was more like a grimace, for his curt words and cold tone—and Taeyong bowed at him again and they went their separate ways down the hall and that was that.

They didn’t interact much, but Johnny kept Taeyong in the corner of his eye, wanting to see if this boy lived up to the hype. Begrudgingly, Johnny had to admit that Taeyong truly was just as good as, if not even better than, the rumors that seemed to follow him like storm clouds.

They didn’t interact much, until, one day, they were put into the same dance class and Johnny nearly throttled a guy on Taeyong’s behalf.

Well, not really. Post-debut Johnny telling this story ( _never_ to the public, because the company would _never_ want word of their trainees finding the time outside of being little practicing angel robots to _argue_ with one another) exaggerates it, while Taeyong rolls his eyes, indulges Johnny, and sarcastically says, “My _hero_.”

What happened was this: a dance instructor teaches the trainees a combination; Taeyong picks it up the fastest; said dance instructor leaves for an hour to let the trainees work on it themselves before coming back to check on their progress; before leaving, said dance instructor makes it very clear that Taeyong is in charge.

It’s not like Taeyong being left in charge is an uncommon occurrence by this point. He does it well, too, in Johnny’s opinion. On days like this—where they’re taught short, solo combos (that don’t involve the trainees working together as a team) in order to assess their proficiency in certain moves and time how quickly they can learn—Taeyong more or less leaves everyone to their own devices. He works on the choreography himself, and steps in only when he sees something, like, _really_ wrong. And when he does offer corrections, he’s usually pretty gentle about it. Firm, sure, because otherwise both he and the person getting everything wrong would be chewed out, but gentle.

This time, however, one of the older trainees does not agree with Johnny’s assessment of Taeyong’s critiquing methods.

Johnny’s got his earbuds in, volume at almost deafening. Still, a furious shout manages to make its way past the music, so he presses pause and gingerly pockets his earbuds, turning to see what was going on.

The older trainee looks purple in the face. He’s got an angry finger jabbing at Taeyong’s chest, and a vein on his neck is protruding with how much he’s yelling. Truth be told, it’s kind of funny. Taeyong looks completely unbothered, face devoid of all emotion except for unimpressed. The other trainee is shouting all sorts of horrible things at Taeyong—things like “the only reason why you’re still here is because you’re handsome” and “you’re not actually any good” and “I bet you bought your way in”—and the more he speaks the more _annoyed_ Johnny gets. There’s no reason to demean others, especially when it’s blatantly _wrong_ , especially when Taeyong has to deal with so much shit and so many rumors as it is.

Inability to receive and accept criticism, unwillingness to push your own ego aside to better yourself, pinning the blame for your own ineptitude on someone else, being completely and utterly unaware of yourself and your own abilities? Every single thing that the older trainee is currently demonstrating is on the list of Johnny’s pet peeves, and he’s positively irritated.

The older trainee shoves at Taeyong again, _hard_ this time, and Taeyong falls to the floor. _That_ makes Johnny’s ears start ringing. Taeyong’s standing up again, sighing and retorting, “Whatever. Get yelled at. See if I care. Don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”

Except, Johnny doesn’t register any of that. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Johnny’s chest to chest with the older trainee, staring down at him in anger. He wants to hit him. He wants to get this guy kicked out, actually, because with an attitude like that, he’ll be gone sooner or later anyways. Instead, he all but snarls, “If you can’t learn to get your head out of your ass and accept help when you need it from someone clearly better than you, then you don’t deserve to be here.” His voice is low and controlled, but the underlying irateness bleeds through. He steps away quickly, to avoid starting a physical altercation, and goes back to his original spot. He exchanges glances with Taeyong in the mirror as he walks. They don’t say anything. They don’t even nod at each other. But they know.

So, really, it wasn’t that dramatic. But it meant that they started to smile and wave at one another when they crossed paths in the company, meant that they would eat meals together, make plans to practice together, go on late-night snack runs together, stay up late talking to one another, always on the verge of baring their souls, but never quite managing to. It meant that they were _friends_ , finally, after nearly a full winter of being anything but.

Winter turns into spring and spring turns into summer and summer has almost turned into fall when Taeyong’s place in Johnny’s life turns into something that Johnny can only describe as irreplaceable.

It would’ve been better if the day had been considered special, like the actual date of Growl’s release, or maybe the song’s first win, or something like that. It would’ve made Johnny feel like less of an idiot at the time, and even now, whenever he thinks back on that day, a wave of embarrassment colors his cheeks red.

He just remembers, one morning, not being able to get out of bed. He remembers gaining consciousness and feeling barely alive, aware of his body and the lead that seemed to weigh him down and chain him to his mattress, yet unaware of his body at the same time. He remembers the single, resounding, crystal clear thought that rang through his mind: you’ll never be good enough.

And he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

He remembers laying there, unmoving, too numb to cry, even though he felt like he wanted to. He remembers thinking about EXO’s success, remembers the bitterness and self-pity overpowering the happiness he felt for his old friends, remembers hating himself the most because of it. He remembers opening his eyes to the sound of the doorknob turning, smelling the linen Febreze that meant comfort and care, and knowing that Taeyong was there.

Taeyong didn’t say anything. He took one look at Johnny’s despondent form, and, somehow, knew what Johnny needed. Taeyong left the room briefly and came back again with his laptop tucked under his arm and the two plates of food he’d prepared for them to eat for breakfast. Johnny would later learn that Taeyong had also texted all their instructors that Johnny was sick, rendered immobile by a high fever (because mental health days just don’t exist in their industry, even though they weren’t even _in_ it yet, and especially not at their company), that he was staying back to take care of Johnny, and that neither would be coming to lessons that day.

Taeyong maneuvered himself under the covers, manhandled Johnny until he was sitting up, made sure Johnny ate, and proceeded to play every bootlegged old Disney movie with Korean subtitles that he could find. He didn’t force Johnny to talk, and Johnny was so _so_ grateful because he didn’t want to. He wanted to shut his brain off and rest his head against Taeyong’s shoulder and watch Marie and Toulouse and Berlioz sing a song about arpeggios. He appreciated Taeyong’s running commentary and the hand that would sometimes comb through his hair and how, right before he fell asleep for the night, Taeyong pressed a kiss to his forehead and told him, “You’re amazing and talented and I know it’s hard sometimes, but you’ll always have me.”

He marveled at the way, the next day, the lead didn’t weigh him down as much. He woke up early and made perhaps too much of a ruckus trying to cook, because the next thing he knew, Taeyong was groggily padding his way into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he saw Johnny, he beamed. He beamed and half-ran over to give Johnny a hug and giggled into his side and Johnny couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Thank you,” Johnny had said. He didn’t say for what, but the twinkle in Taeyong’s eyes told him that he didn’t need to.

“Anytime.”

Another megawatt smile. Then, “Don’t burn the food.”

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

So, they’re best friends and they rely on each other.

They’re best friends and Taeyong is the one who—when the summer eventually passed and turned into fall and Johnny realized that, for the first time, he wouldn’t be going back home to his parents—helps Johnny through a bout of homesickness so strong that he can barely force himself to leave the dorms to go to lessons for a week straight.

They’re best friends and Johnny is the only one who gets to go to Taeyong’s older sister’s wedding, and Taeyong is the one who gets to meet his parents first when they come to Korea to visit, and Johnny is the only one who gets to go to Taeyong’s graduation.

Johnny shows up, bouquet in hand, and Taeyong can’t see him yet. To everyone else, Taeyong’s face looks blank, apathetic, like he would rather be anywhere else than his own graduation ceremony. But they aren’t Johnny. They don’t recognize that Taeyong is actually sullen, nervous. Afraid. Taeyong’s always appreciated his space, sure, but he’s never liked to feel alone and, Johnny guesses, in this crowded room, full of people he doesn’t really know (full of people who are jealous of him) and their families, Taeyong feels more alone than ever. For the remainder of the ceremony, for the remainder of the time that Johnny stands in the shadows, Taeyong’s expression never changes.

Taeyong sees Johnny, finally, and suddenly, his face splits into a grin. To Johnny, it happens in slow motion. The upturn of the corners of Taeyong’s lips, pulling the rest of his mouth into a smile, making his cheeks rounder, drawing out his cute little nose scrunch. To Johnny, the chatter in the room fades away and all that’s left is his heartbeat, pounding in double time. _One-two. One-two. Taeyong. Taeyong._ It’s a stupid fucking cliché, but Johnny’s always been a bit of a hopeless romantic.

Johnny recognizes what this feeling is, of course. It isn’t a swarm of butterflies or a choir of angels or an explosion of fireworks. It’s the innocent happiness he feels when he sees something cute, because Johnny is a sucker for cute things and Taeyong is the cutest. It’s the security he feels when he’s wrapped up in his parents’ arms, safe, like nothing can hurt him through their embrace. It’s the contentment he feels when he drinks a cup of coffee to start his day, his energy-booster, his morning serotonin. It’s the warmth that starts in his heart, spreading across his body, shipped through his bloodstream until it reaches his fingers and toes. It wraps him up in a blanket on this cold, winter day and, this time, it doesn’t feel so bad that Johnny doesn’t want to get out of bed.

Like many things when it comes to Taeyong, Johnny finds that he has to tamp the feeling down. Johnny’s always hated burdening others with his problems. It doesn’t matter how close they are; Johnny’s always tried his best to keep his strongest, all-consuming emotions bottled up, shoved into the dark recesses of his mind, hoping that they stay contained, wine instead of champagne.

It’s better this way, Johnny tells himself. They’re best friends and they’re supposed to debut together and when they do, everyone will see them as brothers. _Brothers_. Johnny’s always wanted siblings growing up, but now, the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

They’re best friends and, while Johnny has enough sense of self-preservation to keep his pining to himself, there _is_ something he very much doesn’t want to hide from Taeyong anymore. It’s not even a secret, really, so much as it is a Fact of Johnny’s Life that he’s bi. It had been so easy in America, in the blue city of Chicago, to exist as he was to his friends and family. It was a whole different story here. Taeyong has the kindest heart of anyone Johnny knows, but still. There’s always that fear—that paralyzing, mind-numbing, anxiety-inducing fear—that even the best person you know could look at you differently just because everyone else in their vicinity tells them that that’s what they should do.

It eats at his mind for _weeks_ , coming out to Taeyong and how to deal with the consequences afterwards. It keeps him up at night, distracts him at the worst times, and makes him so nervous around Taeyong that it’s actually Taeyong who sits Johnny down one day and asks him, with that sheer raw concern only Taeyong can seem to muster, what the hell is going on.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Taeyong had said. “I’ll _always_ be here for you.” He had taken Johnny’s trembling hands and held them in his own, steady ones, waiting. He had squeezed Johnny’s hands in reassurance, trying to offer comfort as Johnny stuttered about fifteen times, choking on the words. When he finally got them out, when he could finally breathe, Taeyong had pulled him into the most breathtaking hug. Quite literally. He had squeezed Johnny _so tight_ , had whispered that he was proud of Johnny for telling him, had apologized for if he had ever made Johnny feel like his sexuality was something he couldn’t have shared, had wiped away the tears of relief that sprung from Johnny’s eyes with that tender smile plastered on his face, had made Johnny feel _safe_.

It’s Taeyong, too, who encourages Johnny to tell the other then-Rookies. It’s Taeyong who sits by Johnny’s side, a pillar of support, as Johnny tells first Ten, then Mark, then Jaehyun, then the rest of the Rookies all at once—all at once because Taeyong had helped Johnny gain the courage to feel like he finally _could_.

They’re best friends and Taeyong debuts first and Johnny feels _terrible_ because while Taeyong should be celebrating, he’d opted to stay with Johnny and ease away the hurt (he didn’t make it, _again_ ) with soothing words and warm hugs and homemade meals and within the week, Johnny’s received a care package from Chicago and he _knows_ Taeyong at least texted his mom (probably FaceTimed both of his parents, if Johnny’s being realistic) to let her know that Johnny needed a little extra support right now.

They’re best friends and Johnny finally gets to debut and Taeyong nearly cries out of happiness for him, for having his person, his Johnny, back at his side. Taeyong declares that Johnny was one of the people who helped him most during their trainee days and Johnny basks in it. Taeyong looks for Johnny, always, during interviews, during behind the scenes cuts, during photoshoots, and Johnny revels in it. Taeyong calls Johnny his soulmate, says that the trust he has in Johnny is indescribable, and Johnny keeps it close to his heart, the fact that someone like Lee Taeyong depends on him, keeps it close so he can protect it, so he can make sure it won’t ever slip away.

They’re best friends and Taeyong asks if they can be roommates and Johnny has a very _minor_ , thank you very much, existential crisis about it. Jaehyun and Mark both spend the better part of an hour laughing in his face, when he wonders how his heart is supposed to deal with Taeyong looking sleepy and soft every day, just like the plushies Johnny likes to pile onto his bed. He couldn’t very well say _no_ to Taeyong. Doing so would be the equivalent of stepping on your pet’s foot _on purpose_ —especially when Taeyong pulled out those eyes. God, those eyes were a cheat code to everything. It really wasn’t fair, but, in the grand scheme of things, Johnny didn’t mind being played.

They’re best friends and this hidden camera debacle happens and that night, Johnny cuddles Taeyong to sleep in their shared room. Johnny is actually rather averse to cuddling (there’s too much body heat and it’s uncomfortable and _sweaty_ and he already spends too much of his life drenched in perspiration), but he knows that Taeyong loves it, so Johnny holds him close and pets his hair and lets Taeyong press his face against his chest and hopes that his heartbeat and his presence are enough to lull Taeyong into an easy, dreamless sleep.

When Johnny wakes up the next morning, he finds a post-it note stuck to the pillow where Taeyong’s head should be. Everyone knows Johnny to be an early riser, so perhaps Taeyong’s absence from the bed is surprising, except for the fact that Taeyong is a workaholic whose sleep schedule has never made sense, for a single second of his life. He probably woke up in the middle of the night and decided that he was better off being productive, as opposed to _resting_ like he should be.

 _Went to the studio early_ , Taeyong’s note reads. _I also already talked to DY & we’re all good! No need to worry :)_

Johnny flops back down on his pillow, throws an arm over his eyes, and exhales a heavy sigh. There’s no way Taeyong should be working right now, not after what happened the day before. The way the light left Taeyong’s eyes as soon as Doyoung’s words registered… that’s not something that can be resolved with a single night’s sleep and a few words exchanged through the haze of exhaustion. Honestly, Taeyong’s talk with Doyoung probably wasn’t even that. If Johnny had to guess, he’d say that Taeyong shook Doyoung awake at whatever god-awful time he decided to go to the studio to tell Doyoung that it was okay, that all was forgiven, before leaving. Or, he left a note, like he did with Johnny.

Neither are ideal and neither are ways the situation should’ve been handled. And, usually, Taeyong would know that. If it were anybody _but_ himself, Taeyong would care more. It’s terribly frustrating. Johnny has loved Taeyong for _so long_ , has spent so much time watching Taeyong give and give and _give_ without having a single regard for himself and it grates on Johnny’s heart and his nerves like nothing else. Johnny doesn’t like to speak for others, doesn’t like to pretend to have a fool-proof guide about what’s best for them, but he _knows_ that Taeyong needs more time, time that idols never seem to have.

The world didn’t stop turning for Lee Taeyong, although Johnny thought that it very well should have.

The world didn’t stop turning for Johnny, either, because when he double-checks how many more minutes of shut-eye he can squeeze in, he realizes that they all need to be out of the dorms _very soon_ in order to get to the recording studios on time.

It’s a flurry of moving bodies after Johnny hauls himself out of bed. He’s in and out of rooms, waking everyone up, yelling how much time they have left in five minute intervals, and answering the constant question of “Where’s Taeyong?” with “Already there! Hurry up!”

When they finally get there (right on time, and Johnny’s oddly proud of himself for managing such a feat in Taeyong’s absence), Taeyong is smiling at them, handing them lyric sheets, and ushering the first member into the sound booth. Johnny wants to talk to him. Johnny wants to pull Taeyong out of the room, buckle him into the front seat of one of the vans they took, drive Taeyong back to the dorms, and tuck him back into bed, but he can’t. It’s an important recording day today: they’re trying to nail down the bulk of the new mini and there’s no _time_ , especially not for Taeyong. There never is.

If Johnny finds himself with more time than most, with extra minutes to wander around the building’s hallways and idly scroll through his private social media accounts because, well, line distributions or whatever, that’s neither here nor there. It used to bother him a lot, used to make him so antsy that he had to leave the building so he wouldn’t take it out on anybody, but now, he’s grown accustomed to it. It’s a pinprick of resentment, a splinter of offense, a dull sense of self-loathing, so steady that making room for its presence in his thoughts has become second nature.

It, at the very least, gives Johnny the time to grab Doyoung by the elbow when he’s getting a drink and ask, “Hey, do you have a minute?”

Doyoung nods slowly, apprehension visible in the downturn of his lips, like he knows what’s about to happen. To be fair, he probably does. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets for so long that, sometimes, it’s hard _not_ to think everyone else’s thoughts.

They walk towards the end of the hall and sink down onto a bench.

It’s awkward. Johnny doesn’t like confrontation. He’s not necessarily bad at it, but given the choice, he really would rather avoid any kind of emotional discussion. People didn’t get into fights with Johnny: he would avoid them as much as possible while he was annoyed to keep the peace, and when he decided he was over it, he’d seek them out again and things would go back to normal. So what if there were some conflicts for which he never got closure? He could deal with it.

This time, though, he doesn’t have a choice.

It’s about _Taeyong_ , so he clears his throat and starts, “Look, I’m sorry for the way I lashed out at you yesterday.” Doyoung nods in acknowledgment of the apology, an unspoken, _It’s fine_. “But what you said to Taeyong…. You can’t say shit like that. You should’ve known better.”

Doyoung hangs his head, eyes staring at his shoes.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Why’d you say that, anyways? You’re literally the only other person Taeyong has explicitly listed as someone he relied on a lot when we were trainees and you _know_ how sensitive Taeyong is to stuff like that.” It takes a lot of effort for Johnny to control the volume of his voice. He doesn’t want to yell, doesn’t want to cause a scene, but now that there’s nothing to distract him from the issue at hand, the frustration from last night bubbles up again, like lava inside of the active volcano that is Johnny’s temper, about to blow. It doesn’t make any _fucking_ sense.

“I thought it’d be fine,” Doyoung’s voice is quiet. It’s remorseful in a way that Johnny recognizes to be sincere, and he can feel his temper cool. “I thought it’d be like us reclaiming the slander to repurpose into our own joke and make something positive from it instead, but I fucked up. I didn’t realize it was still that bad.”

“I think it’ll always be that bad,” Johnny replies. He doesn’t plan for himself to say the words, but once they’re out there, he realizes that they’re true. Taeyong is a people-pleaser to a dangerous fault. _Another person’s happiness is my happiness_ , he had said once, and he yearns for that, strives for perfection in the art of making people happy. But it is Taeyong, also, who receives the most hate from their “fans,” who constantly has to hear questions about why _he_ gets so many lines or why he’s put in so many subunits or why he was chosen to go on a show, and accusations about him being a _bad person_ , as if Taeyong _wants_ to be a living zombie all the time, exhausted and barely able to stand on his own two feet, as if Taeyong could be anything but _good_.

“Anyways,” Johnny says, snapping himself out of his musings, “it’s not me you need to apologize to. Taeyong said he already talked to you, and it’s not like I don’t believe him, but you know he has a tendency to not give a shit about himself, so.”

At that, Doyoung laughs. “Yeah, I’ll say. Remember that time when-”

“Johnny?” a voice calls out from down the hall. Johnny and Doyoung turn towards the sound to be greeted by the sight of Taeyong’s head sticking out of the door of the recording studio.

“You’re up,” Taeyong announces.

They stand and head back into the studio, where Doyoung promptly sinks into the leather couch to resume reviewing his lines and Johnny enters the sound booth. He doesn’t miss the way Taeyong’s eyes dart between him and Doyoung or the way Taeyong’s eyebrows furrow together as his brain works to piece together the puzzle. He doesn’t miss the way Taeyong refuses to look at him even once while he’s recording either, a stark contrast to the way the member in the sound booth usually has Taeyong’s undivided attention and words of encouragement.

It’s going to be a long day.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Taeyong tells them that they can leave an hour or two before the widely conceived notion of “dinner time.” Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Sometimes, recording studio days can be worse than back-to-back-to-back schedule days, especially with how their producers can so ruthlessly whittle away at the members’ self-esteem levels.

Doyoung hangs back in the studio with Taeyong, and Johnny figures that his guess as to why is right, so he hangs back too, waiting for Doyoung in the building’s lobby. When Doyoung comes down a few minutes later, he sees Johnny and nods once and that’s all Johnny needs to believe that it’s been settled. He swings an arm around Doyoung’s shoulders and they pile into a car to head back to the dorms.

Once they’re back in the dorms, it’s every man for himself, schedule-wise. They have nothing planned for the rest of the day, which is a blessing because they usually squeeze in dance practices whenever they have a spare moment to breathe.

Johnny makes himself a cup of coffee because he doesn’t care that it’s nighttime and he has so much caffeine regularly that it doesn’t even affect his sleep schedule anymore. Maybe that’s a problem, but coffee always makes him feel better, so he allows himself this indulgence, in a life that allows him so few.

He sorts out dinner because Doyoung doesn’t feel like cooking and Taeyong still isn’t home and their manager had taken the rest of the night off to spend time with his family. Dinner is a loud affair, as it is most of the time, and while Johnny usually joins in on the post-dinner shenanigans, he doesn’t today. It’s not that he doesn’t love goofing off with the boys, because he does; sometimes, though, he needs the recharge he gets from spending a few hours by himself.

Johnny has, unsurprisingly, elected to have an old Disney movie marathon before knocking out. He’s already showered, changed into pajamas, and tucked himself into his blankets, curled onto one side with his laptop propped up sideways as Simba, Timon, and Pumbaa sing about having no worries, when the door to the room swings open.

When Taeyong walks through the threshold, Johnny pauses the movie. He takes his noise-cancelling headphones off and greets Taeyong, expecting him to start talking about the work he’s done in the studio since the boys left, like he normally would.

Taeyong would also normally make a beeline for his towel and shower things (stored in their room instead of in one of the bathrooms because living with so many other guys can be dangerous for your cleansers’ safety), but tonight, he just stands there. Taeyong’s eyes are trained on the floor, so Johnny can’t see the look on his face, but he can recognize the tension in the slope of Taeyong’s shoulders and it worries him.

“You’re not gonna get ready for bed?” Johnny asks in concern, sitting up properly now, legs still under the covers. “It’s really late.”

At Johnny’s question, Taeyong drops into his desk chair (not his bed, because Taeyong has a strict “no outside clothes on the bed” rule). He massages his neck like he always does when he’s nervous and Johnny has to stop himself from wishing those were his hands instead.

“Why did you talk to Doyoung today when I said that I’d taken care of it?” Taeyong bites out. His face flits through several complicated expressions, settling on something that resembles constipation. It would make Johnny laugh, except for, well, the question that Taeyong just asked that makes Johnny’s anxiety spike.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Johnny answers, heart hammering. “You looked so broken after Doyoung said what he said and it made me upset to see you like that, too, so I just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t say something like that again.”

“Who gave you the right?” Taeyong counters. His voice is venom and it _stings_. “I can take care of myself.”

“You didn’t see the _look_ on your face, Taeyong!” Johnny almost shouts. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself down. His voice is softer when he continues, “It was _scary_ , okay? I was _scared_. I’ve never seen you look like that, and I’ve known you for nearly a decade. And then the next day I wake up to a note that says you’ve worked it out, and I’m sorry for not believing you but I had to make sure and I had to talk to Doyoung myself. I know you think that you’re not allowed to be _not_ -fine because you’re the leader and because so many people rely on you, and I get that, I really do. You can lie to or hide from everyone else, Yongie, but you can’t do that to me. We _promised_.”

Taeyong opens his mouth to retaliate, but closes it before words come out. He shakes his head and looks off to the side, avoiding the conversation and eye contact with Johnny.

“I’m your best friend before anything else, Taeyong,” Johnny tries again, “just r-”

“No,” Taeyong whispers. It’s barely audible, but his voice is so firm in that one syllable that Johnny stops speaking immediately.

“What?” Johnny can hear the blood roaring in his ears. He feels faint.

“No,” Taeyong repeats, a little louder. “You _aren’t_ my best friend before anything else.”

He looks back at Johnny, then, Johnny, whose heart is in danger of crumbling into microscopic pieces of fine dust, to be blown away by the slightest puff of wind.

“You are _contractually obligated_ , actually, to _not_ be my best friend before anything else. We all are.”

Taeyong looks miserable, miserable and resigned and sadder than Johnny thinks he’s ever seen on any human being in his entire life, before shaking his head once more, as if to clear his extraneous thoughts away.

“If we were to have some massive falling out,” Taeyong begins to explain before Johnny can ask, “you’d still have to be my bandmate. You’d still have to be a member of NCT, I’d still have to lead you in 127, and we’d still have to do whatever fucking bullshit management makes us do for the good of the group and the company. There’s no _autonomy_ for us, Johnny. I don’t even know who I am most of the fucking time, don’t know which thoughts are my own and which thoughts have been Pavloved into me by our fans or idol culture or the company.”

Johnny’s still mostly under the covers, but he’s _freezing_. It may be the middle of the summer, but he’s cold. Taeyong has been nothing but warmth in the time that they’ve known each other, but he’s turning the blood in Johnny’s veins to ice. He can’t possibly think that their friendship isn’t real. He can’t.

His brain moves a mile a minute, trying to come up with a response. Taeyong isn’t necessarily wrong. They live instruction manual to instruction manual: do these dance steps, sing these lines, wear these clothes, appear on these shows, act this specific way in this specific circumstance, never forget that your audience is watching every move you make to see when you’ll inevitably fuck up so try your damnedest not to.

But isn’t that most people? Isn’t that exactly what students do, when they decide that they have to go to college (because it’s what their parents want or what everyone expects since that’s what society has deemed as normal), even if they don’t want to? Isn’t that exactly what salary people do, follow order after order after order, every single day from nine to five, watching their lives pass them by?

So, that’s what Johnny says.

“Your life is circumstantial,” Johnny presses on, “but you’re still your own human being. You may have to do what people tell you to do, and act in certain ways, but you can know what you like and what you don’t. You can decide what’s yours and what isn’t. You can still choose the relationships you believe are genuine and, by god, I hope you think ours is because I love you, okay? I love you, and I hope you don’t ever question that.”

Johnny doesn’t know where the confession comes from. He barely even realizes the words have come out of his mouth, too intent on trying to get his point across, trying to get Taeyong to see and _understand_ what he means to him. He has to.

But once it’s out, it feels good. It feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off Johnny’s chest, and for a moment, he thinks that Taeyong gets it, like he has with so many other things Johnny has had trouble explaining. For only a moment, though, a split second of reprieve.

Taeyong scoffs. The weight comes crashing back down, with surprising force considering Taeyong’s scoff was a little thing, a small noise of disbelief not meant to be condescending or break Johnny’s heart. Johnny knows this with certainty, and yet. _Fuck_ Newton.

Taeyong sighs, a drawn-out exhale through his nose.

“Of course you do,” he replies, unaware of what he’s done, of the way Johnny’s chest aches, “at least, in this moment you do, because we’re best friends, right? I love you, too.”

Johnny doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to. The silence engulfs them. Johnny wishes it would eat him whole. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

Taeyong sighs again. He gets up, walks to the door, turns off the lights.

“I’m gonna go back to the studio for a little bit,” he says into the dark.

“Goodnight, John,” he says, unaware of the way he’s just broken Johnny’s heart.

It takes several moments for Johnny’s eyes to adjust. His laptop screen has gone black, _The Lion King_ long since forgotten. Moonlight streams in from their window, curtains undrawn. The night is deceptively calm. Johnny feels cold, still, cold and numb. His mind is buzzing, but he doesn’t seem to be thinking a single, coherent thought.

“I meant I’m _in love_ with you,” Johnny whispers to himself. He stares down at his hands, body frozen with shock and hurt, but mostly disbelief that this stupid, fucked up idol system they’re in has made Taeyong feel like this, like Johnny wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth and then some just to see Taeyong smile.

“I’m in love with you, Taeyong,” Johnny says to no one.

He lets a single tear fall.

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Waking up is hard the next day. Johnny’s body feels sore, even though he hasn’t done anything out of the usual, and his head is pounding.

When Johnny turns his head to the side, he finds that Taeyong’s bed is empty. Johnny can’t say he expected it, but he’s not surprised either. And it hurts, more than he’s willing to admit, how Taeyong had gone to bed after Johnny and, apparently, had woken up before; how they’re supposed to be best friends and they even share the same room but, still, Johnny barely sees Taeyong; how, right now, the distance between them seems insurmountable.

Johnny turns his head back so he’s staring up at the ceiling. The chatter and sounds of life bleeding through the walls that he usually finds so comforting only serve to increase the throbbing at his temple. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then two more, then three. 

He closes his eyes and wishes that yesterday had gone any other way except for the way that it did, wishes he could’ve said something, anything, that made Taeyong understand the extent to which Johnny, and all the boys, cared about him. He wishes he could’ve made Taeyong understand how, regardless of the circumstances that threw them together, they all adored him, truly. Johnny doesn’t even really care that his love confession had gone ignored, misinterpreted. He didn’t really care about that in the moment, and he surely doesn’t care about it now, because who was he to have Taeyong love him back?

They have a relatively slow morning, for once in their lives, so he wonders if he can just… stay in bed. He flings his arm to the side, grasping blindly around his nightstand for his phone. On it sits a shining notification from Taeyong, to the 127 group chat: _come to the living room as soon as you can~ we need to figure out new room assignments_

Suppressing a groan, Johnny heaves himself out from under his blankets. He gets ready quickly and all but collapses onto the nearest couch. He ends up next to Jaehyun, who shoots him a look of concern, “You good, hyung?” Johnny merely grunts in response and Jaehyun snorts before switching his phone to his other hand, offering his shoulder as a pillow for Johnny. That’s the good thing about Jaehyun: he won’t press because they are both equally averse to dealing with emotional shit unless it becomes absolutely necessary.

Johnny opens his eyes to a loud clap. When he blinks away the vestiges of sleep, he sees that the rest of 127 have gathered, some sitting in actual seats, others splayed out across each other or on the floor. In front of everyone, standing, is Taeyong.

The bags under his eyes are getting deeper and deeper. Johnny frowns.

“So,” Taeyong begins, “the new place has a lot more single rooms. We only need two pairs, and Yuta and Taeil already told me that they want to room together again, so we just need two more people to share. Any volunteers?”

There’s a slight pause in which Johnny does some very rapid thinking. He actually does enjoy sharing rooms, although he’s not sure if his track record in roomates (first with Jaehyun and then with Taeyong) has made him biased. He spent most of his life alone, so he doesn’t mind sharing now. He figures, also, that it would be a very Taeyong thing to do, to offer himself up to share a room again if nobody says anything, and then everybody would joke that living with Taeyong is a nightmare because of his slight mysophobia, and Johnny doesn’t want that, doesn’t think that Taeyong should have to hear those kinds of teasing remarks, no matter how innocent they are, so soon after the hidden camera debacle.

He’s not sure why, but he’s nervous—his heartbeat quickens—as he raises his hand and says, “I don’t mind sharing. Like, we can room together again.”

Taeyong meets Johnny’s eyes, the first time today, expression unreadable.

“I… I actually thought it’d be better if I was by myself,” he responds softly, “y’know because of my upcoming schedules and stuff.”

Hums of agreement and understanding sound from the other members. Johnny doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even twitch other than to avert his gaze, but he can feel the pang of hurt, splintering his glass heart. He thinks, maybe, that he doesn’t have the right. It _does_ make a lot of sense. Taeyong _does_ uphold a level of cleanliness that most people can’t keep up with, his sleeping schedule is _absolutely_ fucked, and the company keeps him so busy (especially with the new SuperM activities) that it’d probably much better for his mental health to have a space of his own in which to decompress, but still. Johnny wishes.

He tries his best to tamp down the pain and he can see Taeyong trying to catch his eye again, trying to tell him that it’s not his fault, really, that it’s just better this way, but he can’t stomach it right now.

Johnny forces himself to smile as Donghyuck launches himself into his lap, wanting to share a room. He opens his arms up for a hug, stands up and twirls 127’s little sunshine menace around when he has a firm enough grip, and hears everyone burst out laughing. This is good. This is what Johnny the moodmaker hyung is supposed to do: provide entertainment and ease tension. It doesn’t matter what he feels. He sees Taeyong smiling at them, relieved perhaps that things have seemed to work out, but. But. Johnny already misses him.

Johnny misses Taeyong, but, by god, looking at him _hurts_.

They don’t see each other much. Taeyong and Mark and Donghyuck are like apparitions, flitting from place to place, group to group, schedule to schedule. It worries Johnny, and it worries the rest of the members as well, but what can they do?

When they do see each other, the hurt overcomes the worry. It’s a lot of rejection for Johnny to have taken all at once, even if Taeyong didn’t mean it, even if Taeyong didn’t realize what he was doing.

Taeyong tries. He really, _really_ tries; Johnny can tell. He reaches out as he always does, plops himself down next to Johnny when they’re taking a break from practicing as he always does, makes sure to buy Johnny’s favorite snacks as he always does, texts him good night instead of whispering it into the still air of their once-shared room, but still, it _hurts_.

Johnny isn’t even sure why it hurts so much. Love shouldn’t hurt this much, should it? He’s been dealing with how he feels so well for so many years, and it’s never hurt this much. Maybe it’s because he was so certain that even if Taeyong didn’t love him as something more, they would never not have each other as friends, as best friends. Maybe it’s because Taeyong shattered that certainty and Johnny can’t even be mad about it because he can’t control the way someone else’s mind works—hell, he’s not even sure he can control the way his _own_ mind works—and it’s not like Taeyong _wants_ to think those self-deprecating, poisonous thoughts either. Maybe it’s because he just wasn’t trying hard enough and now he’s at an impasse, unsure of how to act.

So he does what he does best: he runs. He hides. He distances himself from Taeyong, pulls away when that familiar hand reaches out, doesn’t respond when that melodic voice speaks, hurts himself even more when he watches Taeyong’s face crumple at his rebuffs, thinks that he deserves it, hates himself for embodying the words that fell from Taeyong’s mouth—the exact same words Johnny found so incredibly cruel—but not knowing how to stop.

Days of this treatment, of this cold war but not, morph into weeks and Taeyong stops trying altogether. Johnny can’t blame him. He doesn’t remember ever feeling this hollow before in his life.

He knows the other members have noticed. Jaehyun spends more time with him than usual and stares with worry in his eyes when he thinks that Johnny isn’t looking. Yuta and Doyoung have formed a protective circle of sorts around Taeyong, and Donghyuck tries his best to be extra _extra_ bright to make up for the energy that Johnny would usually bring. He even gets texts from Ten, busy with WayV promotions in China, short and to the point: _whatever is happening with you and taeyong - fix it. it’s making him sad and yongie should never be sad._

And he wants to fix it, truly, he does. But now, he’s not sure that he can. He certainly wouldn’t be worthy of it, of having Taeyong by his side again.

Marvel can have their sentient androids and conscious machines. Right now, that isn’t him. He goes through his schedules robotically, hoping he appears lively enough when he needs to be in front of the cameras. He goes through his daily routine without thought, without feeling, and wonders if this is what it means to have chosen the life of an idol.

He still drinks his coffee every morning, straight from his beloved french press, but now, there is no joy, only habit. 

He still drinks his coffee every morning, and that’s where Mark finds him: at the kitchen table, staring blankly at nothing.

“Hey, John,” Mark greets lightly. Johnny blinks the world back into focus and offers Mark his best attempt at a smile. It doesn’t work. Mark makes a sad little noise that evidently strengthens his resolve for speaking to Johnny because the next thing that comes out of his mouth is a whirlwind of questions: “Why are you avoiding Taeyong-hyung? Did you two fight? Is something wrong? I know you don’t like sharing this kind of stuff, but please, can you tell me? Why are you pushing him away when it’s making the both of you so sad?”

Johnny considers it. He doesn’t particularly enjoy speaking about his emotions in general, because then it makes everything _real_ , and he especially doesn’t want to burden someone younger than him with his own problems. He should be able to deal with it. But. Mark is four years younger than him, and with that he holds a level of optimism that Johnny loves, respects, envies. It’s something so inherently _Mark_ , his stubborn, unwavering faith that everything will work out in the end. It’s why everyone in the world has a soft spot for him. It’s something that Johnny thinks he might need right now.

Besides, for all that he teases Mark, Johnny has never been able to deny him anything.

He speaks and speaks and speaks because he finds that, when he starts, the dam breaks. It’s a flood of emotion that he sorely needs, and the water keeps coming and coming and coming and when it’s finally done, Johnny feels like he’s gasping for air.

“It hurts that he doesn’t think we’re best friends before anything else, that he doesn’t think I’d drop _everything_ for him,” Johnny finishes, voice shaking and small. “It hurts that he thinks that about me, because what if that’s what he thinks too? That he doesn’t actually care about me? That everything is manufactured?”

Mark is silent for a terrifying, contemplative moment. Johnny is too afraid to look at his face.

When he finally speaks, he is gentle in a way that Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever heard from Mark before.

“Taeyong-hyung looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.” Johnny opens his mouth to protest, but Mark shoots him a silencing glare and continues, “He loves you, genuinely, everyone can see that. If he says those things, it’s because he’s scared. He’s scared for the same reasons that you’re scared, y’know? And his mind… well, I don’t think management would ever let any of us get anything diagnosed,” a bitter laugh, “but it’s his way of protecting himself. He wants to protect himself from being hurt too, but you’re the one doing the hurting and you shouldn’t be. You’re his comfort crowd, his favorite hoodie. You’re his Johnny, hyung, and I think it’s time you start being that again.”

And Johnny’s known that all along, hasn’t he? It’s some form of what he attempted to tell Taeyong that night, isn’t it? But he let himself drown in his own, spiraling thoughts, so dangerous in an industry that will rarely pull you out. And that’s what’s been happening with Taeyong, hasn’t it? For years rather than weeks? And Johnny’s only been making it worse, when he should’ve swallowed down his pride and his hurt and _been there_ , like they promised each other they would be.

He shoots Mark a smile, resigned but _real_ , “When did you get so smart, hm?”

Mark grins back, relieved, “I just don’t like seeing my mom and dad fighting. Or, like, not fighting, but whatever it was that you two were doing. I joke about you guys being my parents a lot, but you and Taeyong-hyung looked after me so much while we were training, and even now, after debuting, that sometimes it really does feel like you guys helped raise me. I hope you two work it out.”

 _Me too_ , Johnny thinks to himself as Mark stands up to leave.

Before he disappears back into his own room, Mark turns back, says one last thing:

“Actually, I _know_ you will.”

╳ ╳ ╳ ╳ ╳

Getting Taeyong to talk to him again is easy.

For someone whose life is about façades and masks and putting on a show, Taeyong’s true nature is surprisingly easy to read. Or maybe just to Johnny.

It’s both a blessing and a curse, the easiest way to reach out to Taeyong.

All you need to do is ask him for help, ask him to spend time with you.

He loves helping people. He loves forgetting about his own problems in favor of someone else’s—other people’s problems are always so much simpler to deal with, as opposed to digging into your own mind and attempting to untangle the mess of thoughts.

Taeyong’s hanging some of his laundry on his little drying rack in the living room when Johnny shuffles in, heart in his throat.

“Yongie?” he asks, voice soft and hesitant (calling Taeyong by any sort of nickname helps too).

Taeyong looks up from what he’s doing and his face registers shock before he schools it into something less… personal.

“What’s up?” he asks carefully.

“Can you…” Johnny’s nerves eat the rest of his words and Taeyong cocks his left eyebrow up in question. Johnny takes a shaky inhale and asks, “Can you wash my hair again?”

Taeyong’s right eyebrow flies up to join his left in surprise. Then, his face splits into a smile.

“Of course,” he answers cheerfully. He sorts out the rest of his laundry, then jerks his head in the direction of a bathroom, “C’mon!”

See? Easy.

Except when Taeyong guides Johnny into a chair they’ve dragged into the bathroom, Johnny’s heart is racing. When Taeyong wets Johnny’s hair with warm water, happily humming a song to himself, Johnny’s so on edge about him fucking everything up again that he can barely breathe properly. When Taeyong begins massaging Johnny’s scalp with shampoo, Johnny feels all his words stuck in his chest and it’s _painful_ , but it’s _Taeyong_ and Johnny _has_ to fix the mess he’s made.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny manages to say, before his throat closes up again.

Taeyong’s hands still in his hair.

“Oh, John,” Taeyong murmurs as he resumes his ministrations, “it’s alright. You’re talking to me again; you don’t have to explain if you’re not comfortable with it. It’s okay.”

But this? This is exactly why Johnny _does_ need to explain. Taeyong is too _good_. There’s no other word to describe how he is, no other word as all-encompassing as _good_ to describe everything Taeyong would do for the people he loves or the burdens he shoulders or the relentless hits he takes, all in silence, all without complaint. He deserves an explanation, at the very _least_ , and that’s what Johnny tells Taeyong before he steels himself and says:

“I’m _sorry_ I ignored you and pushed you away for weeks. I’m sorry and I won’t ever be able to say it enough. You’re my _best friend_ , Yong, and I never meant for everything to escalate as much as it did. But it hurt me to see you, after that night. I felt knives pierce my heart, when you said that you didn’t think our friendship was genuine and that maybe it wouldn’t last. And then you didn’t want to room with me, and I know _why_ you said no, but it was another knife and it _hurt_. So I tried to curb my pain by avoiding you, but I just hurt you instead, and reinforced whatever fucked up vision you had of our friendship by distancing myself from you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Johnny hears a bottle cap snap open in the silence Taeyong takes for himself to let the apology sink in. He hears his blood roaring in his ears as he feels Taeyong’s fingers comb conditioner through his hair, as he waits for Taeyong’s response.

“I’m sorry, too,” Taeyong finally answers. “I’m sorry for projecting my own insecurities onto you, for making my fucked up thoughts your words, and for not trusting you when you tried to tell me otherwise. It wasn’t fair of me to do that to you, when you’ve shown me nothing except for how much you care.”

And Johnny’s hasty brain latches onto this admission, this possibility that Taeyong _understands_. He feels feverish when he asks, “Do you get it, then? That it’s all real? That I would do anything for you? God, Taeyong, I would give you the world, if I could, to make you happy.”

Taeyong shuts off the water, apparently done with the conditioner. He walks a few steps away to reach for the towels they have stored in a cabinet. As he walks away, he mumbles, “Sure, John… but why?”

Johnny isn’t even sure if he’s supposed to hear that. His traitor mind, though, has an immediate response: _Isn’t it obvious? What do you mean ‘but why’?_ His traitor mouth, too, betrays him when it indignantly rushes out, “Because I’m in love with you, that’s why!”

Taeyong halts in his tracks, a step away, his arms laden with towels, his eyes growing wide, and his mouth dropping open.

Johnny shoots up in his seat when he realizes what he’s just said, and _panics_. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. It wasn’t supposed to come out _at all_ , actually, and Johnny isn’t even sure whether Taeyong has any inclination towards men, because Taeyong’s never mentioned anything about it, and the next thing out of Johnny’s mouth is a steady stream of “holy fuck, I’m so sorry, oh god I don’t even know if you like men, I’ve made you uncomfortable haven’t I, shit, please just ignore me.”

Then, Taeyong laughs.

Taeyong laughs and laughs and can’t stop laughing and his never-ending, choked laughter is what cuts through Johnny’s onslaught of _dread_ and shuts Johnny up. Taeyong stands in front of him with that beautiful, earth-shattering smile of his, the one that’s big and full and bright and soft at the edges and he looks so, _so_ fond that Johnny’s heartbeat calms a little and the fear edges away.

Taeyong isn’t cruel enough to have a deadpan face, to make Johnny nervous about his answer, so he smiles instead, remains smiling as he wraps the towel around Johnny’s wet hair—mussing it up in order to dry it—and stopping only when he places the gentlest, briefest kiss on Johnny’s lips, the best answer.

The warmth that has been missing from Johnny’s chest flares up again, and he wraps his arms around Taeyong’s waist, surges forward for more, _more_ because there’s no way that one kiss is enough, but Taeyong leans back and Johnny knows that he has to wait.

“Let me start by saying that I love you, too, Johnny. You have no idea. No take-backs. I’m not letting you.”

 _Okay_ , Johnny thinks contentedly, _no take-backs_.

Taeyong removes the towel from Johnny’s head and tosses it into a basket of dirty laundry. He stands in front of Johnny again, hip resting on the sink, eyes serious as he continues, “I’ve never mentioned anything about liking men or otherwise because I never really felt anything, for anyone at all, really. I mean, could tell when someone looked nice, and I could tell when I liked spending time with someone more than most people, but nothing ever beyond that.” He lifts his shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I figured that I was ace, maybe aro, but I didn’t say anything because it didn’t seem to matter. It seemed advantageous, even, especially given the whole taboo of dating when you’re an idol.”

Then, Taeyong moves. He seats himself in Johnny’s lap, straddling him with a mischievous glint in his eye as Johnny gulps and puts his hands on Taeyong’s hips to steady him.

“But then there was you. When I debuted with ‘The 7th Sense,’ you suddenly weren’t there anymore. It took me a while to realize, even then. I missed you, of course I did, but I missed everyone else too and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t stop thinking about why I missed _you_. And then I realized that I missed you in a way that made me want to be enveloped by you, wrapped up by everything _Johnny_.” Johnny tightens his grip on Taeyong’s waist, wants to bring him in closer so he knows exactly what that would feel like, but Taeyong remains firm, stares into Johnny’s eyes, keeps talking. “I wanted you to be at arm’s reach, so I could hold your hand and you could pet my head and I could just... hug you all the time, be with you whenever I could. And that just wasn’t the way I missed, say, Yuta. I figured that if the way I missed you wasn’t the same as the way I missed everyone else, that maybe it wasn’t just platonic. It made me scared.”

Taeyong closes his eyes, then, remembering. He drops his forehead so that it rests against Johnny’s and his voice is small when he admits, “I was _terrified_. I was terrified because so much of what we have to do is fabricated. Hell, every promotion cycle, every tour stop, every interview, we have _meetings_ where we decide which members’ interactions need to be played up for the fans and the cameras. Even then, I wasn’t sure which thoughts were mine and which weren’t.”

Johnny hugs him closer then, finally does tighten his grip on Taeyong’s waist. _I’m here_ , he tries to say. _I’m here now and I’m never leaving you._

“I meant it when I said that I was sorry for being unfair to you, for projecting my insecurities onto you. But I can’t help that I feel this way. Believe me, if I could stop, I would. I gave so much of myself away to people who handed me those parts back warped and molded into something that they wanted. I wasn’t sure what was mine and what wasn’t. But this? What I feel for you? This I know is mine. And, quite honestly, I wouldn’t mind even if it weren’t. I would rather have it, fake and corrupt, than nothing at all.”

“It’s not fake,” Johnny hurries to reassure. He’s not even sure if Taeyong has spoken everything that’s been on his mind yet, but Johnny _has_ to let Taeyong know. “It’ll never be fake. Every compliment, every hug, every little act of affection that I’ve ever let myself have with you, whether we’re hidden away or in front of the cameras—everything is _real_. It’s all real, Taeyong, in the purest form I can manage. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“I’ll try my very best not to,” Taeyong whispers. The air is delicate. This moment is delicate, fragile, and Johnny worries his pounding heart will shatter it.

Taeyong pulls back, smirks, “I’m a tough person to crack, Johnny, but look at what you’ve done. Are you going to pick up the pieces?”

Johnny beams. He pecks Taeyong’s lips once, twice. He winds his arms impossibly tighter around Taeyong’s waist, pulling him closer still.

“I’ll pick up every piece,” Johnny swears, voice devoid of the playfulness in Taeyong’s. He has to _know_. “Even if my hands bleed red with cuts, I’ll hold every piece in my palms, because it’s _you_.”

Johnny can feel Taeyong snuggling into his chest as Taeyong wraps his arms around his shoulders and squeezes, like he won’t ever let go.

He breathes into Taeyong’s hair:

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> before anyone says anything, i AM aware that i switch tenses in the middle of sections like a mf! i’m so sorry it’s just how my thought progression naturally flowed while writing and then i didn’t know how to fix it afterwards a;sldkfj (oh look i did it again). this fic is terribly unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes :S
> 
> re: the playlist — i usually don’t write while listening to music and the idea for this fic came before i realized how perfectly “hoodie” described johnyong’s relationship, but once i found that “perfect fit” song, i started to think about other songs that might describe their dynamics, at any point in the fic. with that being said, the songs are in no particular order
> 
> ANYWAYS, johnyong best friends. i will push this agenda until i die. i LOVE them. also, i’m lowkey convinced that johnny has a bit of a temper. and another thing! i tweeted about this, but taeyong is still 100% on the ace spectrum in this fic. even though johnyong Happened, taeyong is still very much ace!!!
> 
> the squares i filled were: on camera prank reveals far too much, mixed talent levels, excessive playing with each other’s hair, no wait come back please smother me, deep mistrust of any genuine affection, codependency
> 
> let me know how i did! comments & kudos are always appreciated ^.^ ♡
> 
>   
>  [twt](https://twitter.com/maddogmp3) || [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/maddogmp3)


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